


Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah

by Cheesecloth



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is hungry and Crowley is THIRSTY, M/M, Ratatouille-induced orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheesecloth/pseuds/Cheesecloth
Summary: Ratatouille may or may not taste absolutely Excellent.





	Hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah

There was nothing quite like watching Aziraphale eat.

Each sugar-coated strawberry mini parfait that dripped against his plump lips and made it shine so prettily had Crowley nearly doubled over.

It was entirely overwhelming, watching the angel indulge like nothing else. Each pleased hum and moan was devastating for Crowley’s heart, which raced like anything. The worst of it was Aziraphale’s eyes.

They were always creased with a smile, and it made something in Crowley’s stomach flutter. But when he was eating there was something sly and _hungry_ in his gaze. Thankfully those eyes were usually directed at the food. Otherwise, the demon would discorporate quite a lot.

Crowley had suggested the ratatouille for their last course. It was mostly as a joke because they had just recently watched the movie with the rat. A very delightful movie indeed. Aziraphale especially thought so. He was so clearly tempted by the animated culinary treats. It was both hilarious to watch and, quite frankly, _adorable_. 

So yeah, it was mostly a joke. Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled when he suggested it to the waiter though. Even Crowley was somewhat excited to see the ratatouille.

At last, when the last course approached the table, Aziraphale clapped his hands together in delight.

“Oh! It looks every bit like it did in the movie, Crowley! Oh, what a delight!”

The waiter tried to suppress a knowing grin but failed. Even Crowley couldn’t keep his indulgent smile in. It was a rather splendid display indeed. The smell of the Roma tomatoes, bell peppers, zucchini, eggplants, and yellow squashes were topped off fantastically with basil, garlic, and olive oil. It would have been fantastic if this weren't a very fancy restaurant. Quite like the movie, the portion was so pathetically small. Nevertheless, Aziraphale was very excited. 

“Thank the rat chef for me, will you?” Crowley asked the waiter, who scoffed and left them with the solo plate of ratatouille.

Aziraphale played around the gorgeous display with his fork, almost too reverent to ruin it by eating it.

Crowley was about to comment when Aziraphale finally brought that fork up to his strawberry-glistened lips.

He waited on bated breath for the signature wiggle of pleasure that was sure to come, but it did not happen.

Crowley frowned as the angel slowly put the fork down, chewing oh so slowly, and his gaze distant.

The restaurant was chock-full of chattering patrons and yet the moment the exquisite-looking dish of decorated vegetables had entered Aziraphale’s mouth, it felt to Crowley as though a stark silence had flooded the room.

No reaction came about, and Crowley was starting to worry.

He just couldn’t grasp what was happening to his angel. He scarcely even breathed as he waited.

A shiver darted through Aziraphale’s body, and his eyes were very, very dark. The moment he swallowed, he exhaled shakily and whispered hoarsely, “_fuck_.”

So quiet, it was, and yet it went through Crowley like lightning. It replayed in his head, again and again, torturing him deliciously.

It was such a shame there wasn’t much of the ratatouille left on the plate. Crowley could watch that reaction a thousand times. He’d burn willingly every single time.

Aziraphale brought the fork up to his lips again, arm shaking a little, and Crowley’s world seemed to zero-in on the angel completely.

The angel savored the taste with closed eyes and a desperate expression. After each slow swallow, he’d lick his lips to chase that taste. It was an utter shame that it ever ended.

Aziraphale pretended like it didn’t happen at all. He didn’t even ask for a _second helping_. He was flushed from his neck to his ears and later left the Bentley in a maddening silence.

After dropping Aziraphale off for the night, he almost crashed a dozen times in his haste to make his way back to the restaurant.

The chef was miraculously very willing to teach him how to make ratatouille. It wasn’t as complicated as it looked like in the movie, and was actually rather pleasant to craft. The chef jokingly instructed him that a very essential secret ingredient was love.

On his own, safe in the kitchen in his flat a few days later, Crowley took it very seriously. In fact, he poured all his desperate, yearning love all over the delicate dish. It paired quite well with everything else Crowley’s heart whispered into it. Like his adoration for the angel, the memories shared together, and a sprinkle of the trust Aziraphale made Crowley feel.

He nervously licked the salt off his chewed-up lips. The ratatouille was in a white pastry box at his hip as he used his other hand to knock on the locked bookstore doors, an hour later.

It opened swiftly after Aziraphale spotted him from the window. He ushered the demon inside fairly quickly.

“Oh, my dear boy! I was just about to ring you! What movie shall we watch tonight? I’m afraid I have a rather _insistent_ craving to watch another Disney movie, even though Shrek was so pleasant to watch yesterday. I suppose we can watch the sequel tomorrow instead? I do hope you don’t mind- oh? What’s in the box?”

“It's yours.” Crowley croaked.

“Mine?”

“Yeah,” Crowley coughed to clear his throat. “Speaking of Disney movies…I tried making ratatouille. Thought you might enjoy it again? I know you love to get a second helping when you find something you really like, and I thought it a shame that you weren’t able to have another go at the dish-“ he felt really transparent.

Especially with the way the angel was staring at him. There was something unreadable in that gaze.

“Is that so?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You made this for me?” He reached out for the box, which Crowley gingerly placed in his hands with a gulp.

“Yeah,” he murmured self-consciously.

Aziraphale made his way over to the table. They were upstairs, as they found it was a very cozy place to watch movies together. And it was not far from Aziraphale’s microwave for some hefty popcorn and a spot of tea.

The angel opened the box, and a waft of familiar scents filled the kitchen.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, hardly any strength left in his voice, “it smells _wonderful_, Crowley!”

Crowley found his seat beside Aziraphale and tried not to gaze at the angel too eagerly. His poor pining heart was written all over the ratatouille.

Aziraphale spent a few more moments drinking in the smell of it before finally grasping his fork.

He cut off a tiny portion with his fork and brought it to his lips, hoping to savor every morsel that Crowley made for him.

The fork made its way into that tempestuous mouth and before Crowley could ask how it tasted, the fork clattered back onto the plate.

It was nothing like the restaurant.

This time, there was no stopping the earth-shattering moan that immediately fell from Aziraphale’s throat. It cut off with a whimper and Crowley’s mouth went dry.

Aziraphale was desperately rutting against the table, a high keen torn from him. The moment he swallowed, the room filled with his emphatic curses. His knuckles were white against his grip on the sides of his chair, helpless against his body’s instinctual grinding at the onslaught of white-hot pleasure.

Crowley could no longer breathe. His mind was blank. Probably melted. He’s probably melted all over Aziraphale's carpeting. This was nothing of what Crowley expected. It was numbingly hot.

“_Aziraphale_,” Crowley whimpered.

Aziraphale took in a gulping breath and spent the next minute panting and trying to calm his racing heart.

“What the _Hell_ did you put in this ratatouille?” He asked quietly, voice thoroughly wrecked.

“_Love_,” Crowley hoarsely admitted, once he caught his breath.

Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered, and he shakily raised his fork again, knocking all the breath out of Crowley once more.

He was helpless against the sight of the fork leaving Aziraphale’s lips once more, and watching a full-body shudder wrack through Aziraphale’s frame was like sparks of lightning.

Crowley gripped the edge of the table, whimpering at the open-mouthed moans from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was gasping and grinding desperately now, unable to rut against any sort of friction, but the millennia of love from Crowley’s homemade ratatouille was friction enough within him. Each burst of flavor was rendered almost dull compared to the otherworldly taste of trust and affection that emanated from each drop of sauce.

On the next bite, Aziraphale’s eyes gazed directly into Crowley’s. The moment it touches his lips, he’s in ecstasy, and his grip against the chair releases and grasps at the table in an effort to find something to hold against as he cums.

Crowley’s no better. He’s panting and shuddering and whispering “Aziraphale, angel, _Aziraphale_,” with dazed rapture.

Once Aziraphale comes down from his orgasm high, he eyes the rest of the ratatouille left on the plate with excited greed like he’s thinking about consuming the rest of it right then and there, and Crowley cums, whispering curses as Aziraphale breathlessly grins at him, still panting.

“_I quite taste the love, indeed._”

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> I'm so hungry now.
> 
> (Changed the rating to explicit, because I was debating about it all day and finally came to a conclusion.)


End file.
